


He's a Fighter; He's a Lover

by TheodoreBear



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood and Violence, Crying, First Kiss, Fist Fights, High School AU, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, This has a lot of emotional turns. I'm a mess.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 23:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheodoreBear/pseuds/TheodoreBear
Summary: Despite his bad boy attitude throughout high school, Richie Tozier was never one to get into fights. But when he shows up late to Eddie’s house with a bloodied complexion, that idea changes. The first fistfight that Richie starts has a reason that Richie doesn’t have the heart to tell his best friend.





	He's a Fighter; He's a Lover

How did Richie Tozier become the battered result of a fist fight?

Eddie Kaspbrak would like to know.

At 11:37 at night, the usual three-pronged set of knocks rapped against Eddie’s bedroom window. It was their thing; Richie would sneak out of his house after sunset to see Eddie when the streets were dark and the only lights were the ones from the streetlamps and sparse illuminations from behind living room curtains. Whether Richie crawled through Eddie’s window, or met Eddie down below in his yard with his bike, they were always spending as much time as possible with each other.  
But tonight, Richie almost didn’t show up. He was late.

When the teenager did appear, Eddie jumped from his bed as quietly as he could (his mother was asleep downstairs) and rushed to open up the window. His heart dropped into his stomach, his breath caught in his chest, when Richie climbed inside. His glasses were broken, sitting unbalanced on his face. A single strip of blood seeped from his nose to his lip and the faint beginnings of a bruise were spotting up his right cheek.  
“Holy shit,” Eddie blurted. It got a small laugh from Richie. “What the fuck happened to you, Rich?” Richie adjusted his glasses on his nose, shrugging and going to sit on the bed. Eddie wasn’t buying it.  
“I ran into Bowers,” Richie brushed it off. “No big deal.”  
“Are you kidding me? This late at night? Of course it’s a fucking big deal, you’re bleeding, dumbass!” Eddie rambled, instinctively brushing a clump of dirty black hair from Richie’s face. His hand was swatted away but he just shoved Richie right back. “Stop being a bitch, man. What happened?”  
“I just fucking told you!” Richie snapped. He took off his glasses, tossing them by where Eddie’s pillow was and rubbed at his eyes. Eddie, stubborn, sat down beside him and pulling down his hands.  
“Stop that.”  
“What-- Why?”  
“You probably have a fucking black eye at this point,” Eddie said. Despite how harsh his tone seemed, his hand was gentle when it was placed on the side of Richie’s face. One of his normally pink cheeks was a battered green colour, blotched with faint hints of purple and black. Eddie sighed, wiping away the semi-fresh blood beneath Richie’s nose. He told him to wait there, and crept out of his bedroom to fish for the first aid kit in the bathroom.

“So are you gonna tell me what actually happened?” Eddie asked after a few silent minutes. He sat across from Richie on his bed, legs crossed and leaned forward. With an alcohol wipe he cleaned away the nosebleed and made a disgusted face. Richie scoffed, kicking at Eddie’s leg with a socked foot.  
“I told you, Eds,” Richie ignored the look he received about the nickname, “I had a run-in with Bowers and his goons. Nothing new.”  
“Sure, but this late?” Eddie chucked the wipe into the bin by his desk. He picked up Richie’s sore hands, turning them in his grip and examining the scabbed skin at his knuckles. “And you fought _back_, Rich. So something got you worked up.”  
“I’m telling you,” Richie spat, “same old shit, Eddie.” He huffed, watching Eddie wipe down his gashes and bandage his hands. He winced at the sting of the alcohol, blowing a heavy breath through his nose. A heavy frown sat on his lips. “I just didn’t want you to get mad at me, I guess."

Eddie’s eyes shot up to look at Richie’s face.  
“Why the fuck would I be mad at you?”  
“For getting into another fight.”  
“Well, it’s not like you started it,” Eddie laughed at him. He put his hands on Richie’s sides, making him tense. It was his procedure after Richie came to him, battered and beat up. See to the external shit, then check for the internal. He was checking for broken ribs, he knew that, _you know that, Richie._ Still his face went hot and he turned away from Eddie. Maybe it was because he was also lying.  
Eddie looked up when he wasn’t met with a snarky remark. “Bowers threw the first punch, right Rich?”  
Richie kept quiet again.  
Eddie was disappointed, sure, but he was also worried. Worried as fuck. Richie told him before, _“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”_ What changed?

“Were you defending yourself at least?”  
Richie hesitated. He looked down, looked at his hands, and let his shoulders slump. After a long minute, he said “No.” Eddie stopped his checking, staring at the back of Richie’s head. Curly black hair blocked him off and Richie hung his head low. It felt like he was more disappointed in himself than Eddie was.   
“Who were you defending then?” Eddie continued. “Was it one of the freshmen? I’ve overheard Bowers and his motherfuckers call them ‘fresh meat.’ Fuckin’ gross.”  
“It wasn’t.” Richie’s voice was quiet.  
“Then who?”

Richie and Eddie were juniors, and since graduating from eight grade they’d found themselves stumbling into more trouble than before. As if defeating a killer clown would prepare you for high school. The Losers Club seemed to have disbanded, with Beverly, Bill, Ben and Stan moving out of Derry and Mike still homeschooled. The two that were left tried to write, but to no response. Either their letters were lost in the mail, or worse, they were forgotten about.  
It felt like a nightmare, the thought of Richie and Eddie being forgotten by each other. They’d been glued at the hip since elementary school, where they’d fight on the playground and aim for each other’s heads during soccer. Still, everything felt rather lonely despite the fact that they still had the other. They knew that, upon graduation, they’d be moving out of Derry and parting their ways. Eddie knew he wanted to go into pharmaceuticals, or maybe a branched field to it, and Richie had no idea what he wanted to do after high school yet. Maybe… run away to California or something. Start something new. Get out of Derry. 

But he didn’t want to do it without Eddie.

He shuffled away from Eddie’s touch, where his hand laid still on Richie’s legs. Eddie only moved closer to his best friend, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to get a look at Richie’s face. His nose was scrunched up, his face almost looked disgusted. He was thinking about how nasty the fight was, Eddie thought, about how awful Bowers is. However, it was rather that Richie was disgusted in _ himself _.

“Who’d you fight for, Rich?”

  


Henry Bowers and his gang cornered Richie Tozier on the bike ride to Eddie’s house. He damn wished he kept up during the mile run in gym class, because his legs were killing him. The only sound louder than the roar of that blue muscle car was his heart pumping in his skull. They got in front of him, skirting to a screeching stop and jumping out to surround him.  
“Oh, fuck off, guys,” Richie argued with the gang, “not tonight.”  
“What’s wrong, Fuckface?” Henry asked him. “Got places to be?”  
“Yeah, your mom’s expecting me--”   
Henry grabbed his bike by the handlebars and shook it, throwing Richie off balance and onto the road. He scrambled for a moment, fixing his glasses and getting back to his feet.  
“Shaken up, Shithead?” Henry said. “Gonna trip, Four-Eyes?”  
“Seriously, Bowers, I’d love to dance but,” Richie threw a thumb to Belch Huggins behind him, “I’ve got a date with Belch’s sister tonight.” He heard Belch scoff, kicking at the road and Richie grinned to himself in the face of his bully. Henry only sneered.  
“Really, huh? Figured you were off to your pal’s house.” Henry kicked at Richie’s bike, shoving it aside. Richie winced slightly at the way the metal scraped along the concrete. “Your ol’... What’d’ya call him? Your _ Eddie Spaghetti _?"

And then? When Richie thought his heart wouldn’t stop pounding? God, did it just stop.

“Shut up, Bowers,” Richie muttered.  
Henry only leaned towards him, his eyebrows raised. “What was that? Got something to say, Four-Eyes? Got something to… _ confess _ ?”  
Richie felt his knuckles go white when he clenched his fist.

_ “I SAID, SHUT UP!” _

His fist swung, knocking Henry Bowers in the jaw. He stumbled backwards as Richie was hoisted back by Vic and Belch by his backpack, wrestled until his feet were kicked out from under him. Richie felt his face heat up, red from anger and flushed in rage.  
"Don’t fucking put his name in your mouth! Don’t you fucking DARE!”  
Henry stood up straight, holding his jaw. He laughed, almost. Fucking laughed.  
And he swung.  
Richie’s glasses were knocked off of his face, cracking on the pavement when the punch landed on his upper cheek. The two goons that held him up laughed, egging Bowers on. Though Richie spat, his head aching, and glanced up at Bowers.  
“That all you got, pussy?”  
Another blow landed on the side of his face.

Richie was dropped, coughing and dizzy. He shook his head and a boot to his side shoved him onto his back. He laid on the road, staring up at a pitch black night sky. A few words are exchanged above him, a hazy and muddy conversation before Henry knelt beside him. Richie’s head was lifted by the collar of his undershirt, looking up at Henry with a squint.  
“Wanna say that shit again, fairy?"  
He stayed quiet, scrunching his nose and being very, _ very _ tempted to say it again. Richie huffed, “Fucking go home, Bowers. It’s past your bedtime.”  
Bowers sneered, winding back a fist and knocking Richie’s head back into the road. His head buzzed and he stayed down this time, getting a kick to the ribs when he heard the faint sound of the gang getting back into the muscle car. It’s engine roared around him and it ran down the street. When Richie sat up, blood began to gush from his nose and he coughed, keeling over and spitting onto the road. He gagged at the sight of red spatter, and got to his shaking feet. He stared down at his hands, roughed up from the pavement and vaguely scabbed at the knuckles. Richie sighed roughly, flinching at the bitter metallic taste on his tongue. Still, he picked up his bike, and continued on until he was crawling through Eddie Kaspbrak’s window.

“You.”

Richie kept his eyes down.  
Eddie blinked.

“Me?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Why?”

Richie rubbed at his eyes.  
Eddie didn’t yell at him.

“I had to.”  
“I’m sure you didn’t-”  
“He called you Eddie Spaghetti.”

Richie choked up.  
Eddie sat up and moved closer.

“I-I call you that. Only I can call you that.”  
“It’s not my _ favourite _ nickname, but…”  
“But he is _ not _ allowed to say it!”

Richie had tears streaming down his bruised face now.  
Eddie moved to sit in front of him, gently holding his cheeks.

“I had to, Eds, I-”  
“It’s alright, Richie, it’s alright.”

Richie shook his head.  
Eddie didn’t want to move his hands.

“It’s not! It’s not, Eddie!”  
“Well, you’re safe now, dickwad.”  
“He said I had to confess, Eddie, I don’t know!”

Eddie went quiet.

“Confess?”

Richie nodded.

“About what?”

Richie let out another choked sob, and Eddie worried for a split second that his mother would hear, but he shoved that thought aside. He brushed his shaggy hair from his eyes, and was careful when wiping away Richie’s tears. He let his best friend cry, jumping slightly when Richie pulled Eddie into a hug. Eddie hesitated for only a moment before squeezing back, burying his face in Richie’s hair like how Richie did to his shoulder.  
Eddie stroked his best friend’s hair as sorrows spilled from his eyes and his heart emptied it’s heaviest troubles. Eddie held him close, and just listened to Richie sputter out fragments of words and phrases between sobs.

_ "Eds-- I… I didn’t… F-fuck…” _

Richie leaned back after a few minutes, his eyes red and sore, his throat rough and his voice croaked. He laughed at himself, a single chuckle, and shook his head. He struggled for a ragged breath, and he immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, Eddie…”  
“What? For what?”  
“For… That. That _ mess _ .”  
Eddie scoffed, playfully kicking Richie in the leg. “Shut up, man. Don’t apologize.”

Richie’s sad smile was quick to fade to a simple frown.

Eddie sighed, falling back onto his bed. Richie followed, laying beside him. He almost didn’t like it: staring up. But beneath him was a warm mattress instead of a cold concrete road. Beside him was Eddie Kaspbrak instead of Henry Bowers. On his face lingered the ghost of a touch of his best friend instead of the sting of a punch of his long-time school bully. He felt at ease, but something anxious loomed in his chest.  
“What was the confession?” Eddie’s voice asked softly beside him.  
There was the anxiety.

Richie shook his head.  
“I don’t know if I can, Eds.”  
Eddie rolled over onto his stomach, leaning on his arms and looking over at Richie. He sent him a puzzled look, eyebrows furrowed and face confused.   
“You know you can tell me anything, right, Rich?”  
“Yeah, I know. But I just don’t know about… this.”  
“Well, what makes this any different than any of our other secrets?”  
“Because it’s not just a secret, Eddie!”  
“Secrets are secrets! Like, I told you that I barfed behind that bush in P.E. and you promised not to tell anyone! Or, like how you fell out of a tree and you thought you broke your ankle but you didn’t, but you were still super embarrassed about it and I didn’t tell your mom. Or… Or how it was you that booby-trapped Bowers’ steering wheel with that popper and not Satchel Hertch that graduated last year.”  
“It’s different, Eds!”  
“Fucking how, Richie?!”  
“Because I’m gay!”

Their faces froze at the same time. Eddie took a moment to process the secret Richie just burst, and Richie’s brain finally connected to his words. Their eyes were wide. Eddie stared at Richie, who immediately groaned and covered his face with Eddie’s pillow. Bad idea-- it smelt like Eddie’s shampoo which was stupidly and wonderfully vanilla scented. He shouted into the pillow, and his best friend almost laughed at him.  
“Hey, man, _ hey _ !” Eddie yanked his pillow from Richie, who sat up. He kept his eyes to his feet, but Eddie didn’t want to look away from him. “What, you thought I’d suddenly hate you for being gay or something?”  
Richie shook his head stern. Eddie kept talking.  
“Because you don’t have anything to worry about, alright man? You’re my best friend, Rich, and I ain’t ditching you after how many fucking years for liking guys.”  
“It’s not just that, Eddie.”  
Eddie stopped talking.  
“It’s not just that I like guys, alright?”  
  
Richie glanced at Eddie’s socks, these white socks with red and blue stripes at the top of them. He looked at Eddie’s hands in his lap, one folded over the other, still and frozen like a polaroid. His eyes moved to Eddie’s shirt, a pale pink t-shirt that was a similar colour to a polo Richie remembered from when they were kids. He looked at Eddie’s face, confused and concerned and intrigued all in one moment. Richie swallowed his heart back into his chest.  
“I like this one guy, and I’m afraid that he doesn’t like me back.”  
Eddie’s face furrowed, tenser, more confused. “Who? If you don’t mind me asking.”  
Richie laughed at himself for a short second.  
“Well, I hope he appreciates I got beat up for him.”

Richie bites back the need to cry again when he sees Eddie’s face go soft in realization. His eyes went big and brown and beautiful, but it hurt Richie’s heart so bad. It stung the way that Eddie opened his lips, struggling to find the words to reject him, or tell him to get out of his bedroom, or to simply never speak to him ever again.  


Eddie’s mind was going nuts. It was hard enough of a pill to swallow that his best friend got in a fist fight for his sake. But this? Finding out that he wasn’t alone? Eddie took a breath and broke eye contact, gripping the edge of the bed and looking down at the floor. He heard Richie choke, and shook his head. He joined Richie with a small, self-deprecating laugh.“Yeah, uh… He really appreciates it, but I’m sure he’ll call you a fucking idiot.”

Richie scoffed, crossing his legs on the bed and hugging his arms. He was tempted to just up and crawl back out the window, maybe ride his bike into a ditch and rot from embarrassment. But Eddie set a gentle hand on his aching shoulder, shaking Richie lightly back and forth.  
“Fuckin’ idiot,” Eddie told him.  
“Thanks, Eds.”  
The hand on his shoulder moved to his cheek, turning his face to stare back at Eddie. His eyes were still big and brown and beautiful, and his lips were turned up in the smallest of smiles. “Fucking idiot,” Eddie repeated, in a whisper this time. He pulled Richie towards him, and kissed him with his smile. Richie sucked in a breath through his nose, and he knew Eddie flinched at the taste of dried blood in his mouth, but he grabbed Eddie’s waist and pulled him in. Eddie’s arms wrapped around Richie’s neck, keeping him close and flushed against him. Fingers made their way into shaggy black hair, beneath pink shirts. They parted, hearts racing and loud in their ears. Grins invaded red cheeks and love-full eyes. 

“So that’s what a kiss to feel better from Dr. K. is like, huh?”   
“Oh, my God.” Eddie laughed, rubbing at the remains of tears on Richie’s face. “God damn it, Rich, why hadn’t you told me sooner?”  
“Well you could’ve told _ me _that you had the hots for me!”  
“Guess we’re both fucking idiots then!”  
Richie grinned, wide with a split lip and hazy eyes.

“Guess we are.”


End file.
